Читать книгу The Young Wireless Operator—With the U. S. Secret Service - Lewis E. Theiss - Страница 4

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Willie was fairly paralyzed with astonishment. For a moment he stood staring dumbly at the card in his hand. Then he comprehended the situation. The man who had given him the cardboard was not a tramp, but a Secret Service agent; and his name was Sheridan. Something crooked was afoot among the bargemen, even as Willie had fancied might be the case. Sheridan was trailing the conspirators and needed help. At that thought, Willie’s indecision dropped from him like a cloak. He must act. Like a shot he started for the place Sheridan had pointed out, where there was a public telephone.

As he ran, he looked up South Street. The thoroughfare was full of vehicles and people. Still Willie could distinguish the bargemen from the remainder of the crowd, although they were now well up the street. Sheridan was not far away, and yet Willie had almost more difficulty in recognizing him than in distinguishing the bargemen farther up the street. Of course, there were several of the latter, and that made a difference. Sheridan was a single individual. But Willie quickly divined why there was this difference. Sheridan was keeping in close to the buildings, where he was much less conspicuous than persons in the middle of the walk.

Willie had no time to consider the matter, however, for he had reached the place where he was to telephone. He took a last, sharp look up the street, and saw the bargemen just entering a door. Willie tried to determine exactly which building they were entering. Then he turned and stepped through the door before him.

He found himself in a typical South Street ship-chandlery. About him were ropes, compasses, lanterns, rubber coats, chains, anchors, and other nautical equipment. A clerk stepped forward.

“Do you have a public telephone?” inquired Willie.

“In the booth over there,” said the clerk, pointing across the room.

The clerk paid no further attention to Willie, who stepped into the booth, closed the door, dropped a nickel into the slot, and called his number. Immediately came the reply.

“Sheridan wants a man to help him at once in the neighborhood of South Street and Coenties Slip,” said Willie.

“Is this Sheridan speaking?” came the query.

“No. This is a messenger for Sheridan.”

“Hold the wire a moment, please.” And a little later the voice added: “Tell Sheridan there isn’t a single operative here at present. We’ll send him help if anybody comes in.”

Willie hung up the receiver but remained in the booth, thinking. Sheridan might need help badly. Those bargemen looked like a desperate lot. Yet the office could send him no aid. Possibly he himself could give Sheridan some help. At that thought, Willie’s heart beat wildly. “I’ll try,” said Willie to himself, “and at any rate I must get the message to Sheridan.”

He left the ship-chandler’s and hurried up South Street. Diligently he studied the moving crowd ahead of him. Nowhere could he see any one that resembled either the bargemen or the Secret Service man. Willie felt certain that the latter would be not far from the former. He was equally confident of his own ability to recognize the place the bargemen had entered. He cast about in his mind for possible ways to help Sheridan. Presently he became so excited that he found himself running. At once he took a grip on himself.

“This won’t do,” he muttered. “Above all things you must not do anything to attract attention to yourself. If you are going to be of any use to Sheridan, you’ll have to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible.” At once Willie dropped to a walk and became a cipher in the mass of people moving along the sidewalk. Before it seemed possible, he reached the building into which he was sure the bargemen had disappeared. He knew it by its wooden awning and peculiar dormer-windows.

Something about the place made it seem sinister and forbidding. The building was badly battered, as though it had had hard usage at the hands of hard men. Heavy curtains hung inside the lower sash of each window, as though to conceal something questionable within.

If Willie was right, the bargemen were within this building. Possibly Sheridan was also, though it was quite as likely he might merely be in the neighborhood, keeping watch until the bargemen should come out. So Willie began to scout around for Sheridan. He looked in every likely place he could think of—every accessible place from which a man could see the door of the suspected house and not be easily seen himself. But nowhere could Willie find a trace of Sheridan.

“He’s in that house,” said Willie to himself. “He wants to do more than merely follow those fellows. He wants to hear what they say. It’s up to me to go in and give him the message.”

But here was a difficulty. How should he go about it? He might much better not deliver the message than do anything that would draw attention to Sheridan or possibly put him in danger. Willie had no idea what sort of a place this building was. There was no sign outside to tell him, or rather the sign was so old and weather-beaten as to be actually undecipherable. It might be a private house, or a store, or a saloon, even though saloons were no longer supposed to exist. Or it might be a club or a shop or any one of a hundred things. Suppose he went in and did not see Sheridan? What was he to do? He mustn’t ask for him. That would give the whole thing away. And then there were his own clothes to be considered. If he went into a place like this tough looking house before him, dressed as he was now, with his shoes shined and his trousers creased, he would instantly attract attention. He must find some way out of the difficulty.

Willie was fairly at his wit’s end when somebody bumped into him. He wheeled about to see who had shoved him. It was a ragged newsy.

“Sun! Woild! Joinal!” shrieked the lad, paying no attention to Willie.

For a moment Willie stood looking at the ragamuffin. Then he sprang after him and touched him on the shoulder. “Give you a dollar for your coat and papers, and trade you caps,” said Willie, briefly.

The newsy looked at him in astonishment. “What’s your game, pardner?” he asked.

“Never mind,” said Willie with a smile. “I’ve got use for just such a cap and coat. If I can get them from you, it will save me a trip to Baxter Street.” And Willie held out the crisp dollar bill Sheridan had given him.

“I guess you’re a wise guy all right,” commented the newsy. “It’s a go.”

He gave Willie his few papers. Then he shoved the dollar bill into his trousers’ pocket, peeled off his coat, and handed it to Willie. An exchange of caps followed.

“Much obliged to you,” said Willie.

“Hope they help you,” said the newsy. “Wish I knowed what your game is anyway. Me for Sheeny Ike’s now. I kin get a new coat and my supper and a night’s lodgin’ out o’ this dollar. So long.”

Willie smiled good-bye. When the newsy turned away, he darted around the corner and bolted into the first vacant hallway he came to.

The lad that emerged from that hallway a moment later bore little resemblance to the boy who had entered it. The ragged old coat that Willie had obtained was many sizes too large for him, even as it had been for the newsy, and it effectually concealed Willie’s own coat. His neat, well-creased trousers looked strangely at variance with the coat, but Willie remedied that in a moment. Some ash cans stood by the curb. It took very little of the ashes to spoil the good appearance of both his trousers and his shoes. It came hard to Willie to soil his clothes this way, even though he knew the dust would brush out; for these were the best clothes he owned. A few smears of dirt on his face, and the old, torn cap completed the change so effectively that Willie would hardly have known himself could he have looked in a mirror. As for selling papers, that was nothing new at all for Willie. He had sold papers for years at home, when he was a bit younger.

Satisfied that his appearance was right for the business in hand, Willie promptly entered the house. It proved to be just what Willie suspected—a saloon; though it was run under the guise of a coffee-house. Willie was satisfied of that the moment he entered the door.

Before him he saw many small, round tables, with men seated about them. At a larger table in one corner were the bargemen. And Willie’s heart went pitapat when one of them looked at him and scowled savagely. But Willie felt reassured when the man began to quarrel with one of his fellows. The scowl was evidently not meant for Willie. Nowhere could Willie discover Sheridan. He was not able to see every one in the place, however, for some partitions extended out a little way from the street wall where a partition wall had evidently been partly removed to enlarge the dining-room. He must get a look at the space shut off by these partitions.

Quietly Willie began to move about among the tables, offering his papers for sale. All went well until a waiter, coming from the kitchen with a tray of food, espied him.

“Get out of here,” he thundered. But, having his hands full, he could not chase the newsy out.

“Can’t a fellow get a bite to eat here?” demanded Willie.

The waiter gave him a surly look. “Be quick about it,” he said. “This ain’t a kindergarten.”

Willie walked rapidly past the jutting partitions, apparently looking for a vacant table. Every table was in use. But just behind one of the partitions was a table at which only one diner was seated. Willie hardly wanted to sit down at the same table, for the man was obviously drunk. He was slouched down in his chair, and his cap had slid far down over his face. Before him were some steaming platters of food. But when Willie stepped a little closer his reluctance suddenly disappeared. He recognized the battered old clothes the drunken man was wearing. It was the same suit of clothes Willie had seen on the tramp that crawled out of the box pile on the pier. Willie comprehended the situation in a second. The bargemen were at the table immediately on one side of the partition, and the tramp at the table on the other side. He had picked out a spot where he could hear the bargemen, but could not be seen by them.

The tramp looked up sharply enough as Willie took the vacant seat opposite him. In a moment he apparently roused himself and began eating his supper. Willie saw plainly enough that Sheridan recognized him. But at first Willie made no effort to speak to him. Presently everybody seemed to be talking loudly at the same time, and the bargemen were quarreling noisily among themselves. There was a perfect babel of voices.

“There was nobody to send,” whispered Willie across the table. “They will send help if anybody comes in.”

The Secret Service man nodded comprehension. “Eat your supper and go out. Watch for somebody from the office. Wait for me,” whispered Sheridan. Then he went to eating noisily and paid no attention whatever to Willie.

The latter ordered some coffee and doughnuts, ate them, paid the waiter, and went out. Nobody paid the least attention to him.

Once outside, Willie breathed freely again. Though nothing alarming had happened to him in the restaurant, he had been in a state of suppressed excitement all the time he was inside the place. Now he felt as though he could not keep quiet another instant. He wanted to run or shout or do something violent to give vent to his feelings. Yet he didn’t want to do anything that would draw undesirable attention to himself. Just then he thought of his papers.

“Sun! Woild! Joinal!” he cried, imitating as nearly as he could the gutter English of the newsies. He ran about among the crowd, now here, now there, crying his papers, but making few sales.

Presently he worked off his excitement and suddenly he thought of Roy. “Gee whiz!” he muttered to himself. “I forgot all about Roy. He’ll be bothered to death about me. He probably will think I’ve gotten into trouble. I must telephone him at once.”

He looked closely up and down the street, to see if any one in sight looked like a Secret Service man, then scurried along the street, looking for a telephone-booth. Soon he saw one in a shop, and in another moment he was speaking to the watchman at the Lycoming’s pier. The watchman said he would tell Mr. Mercer that his friend was unavoidably delayed, but was all right, and would be home during the evening, and that Mr. Mercer should eat his supper without his friend.

With his mind relieved about Roy, Willie returned to his vigil outside the evil-looking coffee-house. The street became deserted. Darkness had long since come and the street lamps had been lighted. It made Willie’s job both harder and easier. The deep shadows rendered concealment easy. On the other hand, the stirring life of the city had disappeared. There was little of interest to arrest the attention, and Willie’s vigil grew tiresome enough. He kept his eyes open for passers-by who might prove to be possible helpers for Sheridan, but every one went briskly past, as though he had a definite destination and was in a hurry to reach it.

To Willie it seemed as though it must be nearly midnight, though it was really scarcely eight o’clock, when a group of men came noisily out of the coffee-house and headed down South Street. Willie knew them instantly, though in the dim light he could not distinguish faces. They were the bargemen. He was almost minded to follow them. Then he thought better of it. Sheridan would trail them, if it were necessary. So Willie stood still in the shadowy hallway where he was watching, and waited. In a few moments the tramp came out, and Willie was afraid the man really was intoxicated, so uncertainly did he start out. But when Willie ran up to him, crying, “Paper! Sun! Woild! Joinal!” the Secret Service man got control of his faculties quickly enough.

“Go round the corner,” he muttered, “and meet me under the elevated.”

Willie went on down the street, turned the corner, and walked to Pearl Street. There he waited in the shadow beside a pillar of the elevated railway. Presently Sheridan came round the other corner of the block and joined him.

Willie was all afire with curiosity. He wanted to ask his companion a thousand questions, but had discretion enough to keep quiet.

“See here, kid,” said the Secret Service man. “What’s your name?”

“Willie Brown.”

“What part of town do you live in?”

“I live in Central City, Pennsylvania. I’m just visiting in New York. Got here this afternoon.”

The Secret Service man stopped and looked at his companion searchingly.

“Well, you’re the cleverest country kid I ever saw. What made you try to disguise yourself and slip your message to me so quietly, just as though I was doing detective work?”

“Why, you are doing detective work,” said Willie. “You’re a United States Secret Service man.”

The man laughed. “Whatever gave you such an idea?” he said.

“The telephone number you gave me was the secret call of the Secret Service,” said Willie.

Willie could feel his companion’s eyes fairly boring through him. “Look here,” the man said. “Where do you get all these funny ideas?”

“You needn’t try to deceive me,” said Willie. “I know you are a Secret Service man and I know you are watching those bargemen.”

“If you know so much,” said the man, “tell me how you know it.”

“That’s easy,” said Willie. “I worked with the Secret Service myself during the war and I know their secret number. The minute you gave me that number I guessed what you were and what you were up to.”

“What did you ever do for the Secret Service?” demanded Willie’s companion, plainly astonished.

“Do you remember the search for that German spy with the secret wireless? And do you remember that little bunch of boys from the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol that came here to help the Secret Service when you were so hard pressed?”

“I sure do. Were you one of those fellows?”

“Surest thing you know,” said Willie.

“Well, shake hands. It’s no use to try to fool you any longer. I am a Secret Service man as you know. And I’m after that gang of canal boat men. I’m mightily obliged to you for your help to-night.”

“It was mighty little help I gave you,” said Willie, “though I’d have been glad to help you if I could.”

“You were a good deal of help. A fellow always likes to know he has somebody near that he can rely on. Nothing turned up, to be sure, but if those fellows had tumbled to who I was, I’d have needed you all right enough—and a whole platoon of cops beside.” And the Secret Service man chuckled.

“What—what are those bargemen up to?” asked Willie, with some hesitation.

“Wool smuggling. The case doesn’t amount to much itself, but it may help us to solve some matters that do amount to a great deal. But you haven’t told me yet how you got those old rags you have on and how you found me.”

“That’s easy,” laughed Willie. “I watched the bargemen go up the street until they turned in at the coffee-house. So I felt sure I knew where you would be. And after I had telephoned to the office and gotten an answer for you, I came across a ragged newsy. I knew my own clothes might attract attention in a place like that coffee-house, and I gave the newsy your dollar bill for his outfit. That’s how I became a newsy myself.”

“Well, you’ve got a lot of sense, kid. You’d make a good Secret Service man yourself.”

“Do you really think so?” cried Willie, his heart beginning to beat fast.

“Haven’t any doubt of it.”

“Do you think I could get a job with the Secret Service?”

“See here. Have you been reading dime novels?”

“No, indeed. But I would like to be a Secret Service man more than anything else I know of.”

“I don’t believe you’d have much chance. You know the government wants only experienced, trustworthy operatives for the Secret Service. And besides, you’re too young. When you grow up, you might work into something of that sort.”

Willie’s hopes fell with a crash. There was the same old difficulty again. He was too small. He could hardly keep the tears back, as he replied, “But why should a fellow’s size make any difference?”

“Who said it did?” replied the Secret Service man. “I said you were too young, not too small. Now, after you get into high school and finish your course there, you might have a show to become an office boy.”

“Get into high school!” cried Willie. “Why, I was graduated from high school last June. You think I’m just a kid because I’m so—so little.”

“The deuce you say! A high school graduate. Well, you don’t look it.”

“Yes,” said Willie, seeing that he must strike now, while the iron was hot. “And I was graduated with honors. I’ve had pretty good experience with wireless and I can send and receive almost as fast as a professional. You know about our work here in finding the secret wireless. Before we helped in that spy hunt, we ran down some German dynamiters up in Pennsylvania, we fellows of the Wireless Patrol, and I had a hand in that. You see, I’ve had some experience already, and I’m sure I can learn fast. Isn’t there any job I could get with the Secret Service?”

“They might take you on as an office boy,” suggested Sheridan.

Office boy! There it was again. The same difficulty Willie had been bumping into ever since his graduation. Everybody thought he was fit only to be an office boy. His face grew very dark.

“What’s the use of going to school and studying hard,” he cried, “if all the benefit you get from it is to qualify as an office boy. Why, I could have had a job as an office boy years ago.”

The detective’s face hardened a bit. “I began at the bottom myself,” he said, “and so far as I know, so did every other operative in the service.”

“You don’t understand,” cried Willie. “I don’t mean that I am unwilling to begin at the bottom. But being an office boy is another thing.”

“Not necessarily,” said the detective. “They can’t take anybody into the government Secret Service as an operative until they are sure of his ability and honesty. If you can get a job in the office, you’ll get a chance to show what’s in you. And if you are cut out to be a detective, I don’t know of any better way to get into the United States Secret Service.”

Willie still looked rueful. “It wouldn’t surprise me,” he said bitterly, “if I couldn’t even get a job as an office boy.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t want to be a Secret Service man after all, if you knew a little better what is involved in the work. It isn’t all fun and it isn’t all as easy as this little trick of to-day. It’s always dangerous, and sometimes it’s hard and disagreeable.”

“But how am I ever to know what it is like, if I can’t get a chance to try my hand at it?”

Detective Sheridan looked at Willie long and searchingly. “I believe you’re a good lad,” he said, “and I believe you would make good. You showed me to-day that you have some stuff in you. I didn’t need your help, but if I had needed it, I believe you would have stuck to me.”

“Of course I would!” cried Willie.

“So I am indebted to you, anyway, for it’s quite evident that you didn’t try to serve me just for the money I offered you. In fact, you spent what I gave you, and I haven’t yet given you the other dollar I promised you.” And Detective Sheridan reached for his pocket.

“Keep your money,” said Willie. “I won’t take it. I didn’t take the first dollar because I wanted it, but because I was so astonished when you gave me that telephone number that I forgot about everything else.”

“It’s evident that you don’t belong in New York,” said the detective with a smile, as he thrust his wallet back into his coat pocket. “If you won’t take money, perhaps I can repay you in a way you will like even better. We’re going to grab this wool-smuggling barge captain to-morrow. How’d you like to have a hand in that?”

“Do you mean it?”

“Sure. You’ve had a hand in the case, and you might as well be in at the finish.”

“That will be bully!” cried Willie. “What do you want me to do?”

“Go home and keep your mouth shut. And by the way, where are you staying?”

“I’m a guest on board the Confederated liner Lycoming.”

“The deuce you are! That’s Captain Lansford’s boat. We had a case over there some time back. Some Mexicans tried to smuggle in some stuff. The police got them red-handed, but we went over to make a further investigation. They’ve got a slick young wireless man on that ship. I believe he discovered the smugglers at work.”

“That’s Roy Mercer!” cried Willie, with pride. “I’m his guest. We’re both members of the Camp Brady Wireless Patrol, and he was one of the fellows who helped run down the secret wireless here in New York.”

“I understand he’s a good one. The purser was telling me how he saved the Lycoming by wireless from colliding with another steamer in a fog.”

“You bet he’s a good one,” said Willie, loyally.

“Well,” said the detective, “I’ll see you to-morrow in time for our little party. Good-bye.”

“Where shall I meet you?”

“Oh! I have some business in your neighborhood and I’ll stop for you some time in the late afternoon. Good luck to you. Take care of yourself. And remember not to give the thing away. We want to get these wool smugglers right.”